Will there be fruit?

We who stand so tall in youth
can see down the road
to a day when will be shorter,
gnarled, perhaps;
the hair now finely styled, or sleek
will fly away in wisps
from skin mottled with spots and lines.
Standing here,
we watch the clouds gather
and wonder: what will I have left behind
after the rain? 
Will there be fruit?


Or simply leaves, lying on the ground
to be swept away by the wind
or left as compost for the soil
to nourish future trees…